


Fandom

by witchway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Times, Inside jokes, M/M, Male Slash, tumblr love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you read Tumblr. long enough, this stuff starts to write itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FANDOM: Theories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [von_gelmini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gelmini/gifts).



FINALLY they left.

Stiles, then Scott left for parts unknown and Peter for his (thank god) separate apartment, leaving Derek in his loft, alone with his longing.

Longing for rain. Longing for lightening or hail or snow or a goddamn meteor, or even an attacking wolfpack, ANYTHING to rid his loft of the smell of STILES.

Fucking _Stiles._

He could count every single time the boy had touched him. Every. Single. Time. And tonight again – the boy’s hand on his wrists (my god his fingers didn’t even reach all the way around, don’t think about it, don’t go there) demanding he prove he could punch through a wall. Derek couldn’t even look him in the face. 

How could he, knowing that, as soon as everyone left, he’d be jerking off to the memory of that touch? 

So he punched the boy, as requested. Gently, of course, but it still earned wrath and sarcasm from the other two.

Finally Stiles had left and Derek hoped to be left alone with his pitiful thoughts. But no.

_First,_ he got a lecture from Scott.

“Stop hitting him stop threatening him he’s the reason your alive don’t you ever think about how he saved your life and he doesn’t even have special powers he’s my friend be more respectful treat him better” etc. etc. 

_Very true, he WAS punching the boy more, ragging him more, insulting him more. He knew it. They all knew it. It was becoming uncomfortable all the way around._

_But Scott was easy to ignore, since threatening Stiles was never GOING to end. It was threaten him or push him against a wall and hold him down and forcefully jerk him off while growling obscenities in his ear, and that, obviously, was never going to happen._

_Next_ he got a lecture from Peter. 

“PLEASE just fuck him and get it over with.” 

_It was a short lecture. ALSO easy to ignore, because he hated Peter._

Then, finally, the lectures were over, the bodies were gone and here he was, trapped in his own loft, imprisoned with the smell of _Stiles_ , waiting for rain, or snow, or the apocalypse, ANYthing to distract him from these impossible demands.

Because he couldn’t "just fuck" Stiles. And he couldn’t "treat him better." All he could do was brood, glare, and jerk off alone in his shower.

He went outside for a run. It didn't help. Two blocks. Three blocks. Four. He actually started to head to the woods – but the woods would always smell like burned out Hale House, and that would not cheer him up tonight.

God was he lonely.

His only living relative was the man he feared, mistrusted, hated and missed in a way that was physically painful. His pups were still so distant, looking to him for all the answers while doubting his leadership. And Scott would never need him as long as Scott had Stiles. He never ceased to envy their fast and easy friendship. 

He had friends once, too. When he and Laura were sent away to boarding school in New York.

New York never seemed so far away

He missed school. he LIKED school. He as GOOD at school. And he had friends there, lovers. Fuckbudies. Not FRIENDS, friends, of course. Not friends who really knew him, knew his big secret. But it was fun all the same. 

He (and couple of other well-hung boys) had been known as the “BIG Men On Campus” (emphasis on the BIG) and they had more than their fair share of attention from the fairer and not-as-fairer sex. They had quite a following – hell, they had _FANS_ there. 

Fans had taught him to appreciate the benefits of male ‘friendship’, the kind that was all fun and games and so much less complicated than relationships with females. 

Not that he didn’t have plenty of those too. He had spent a lot of time enjoying himself at school. Enjoying himself, and others.

Which was, of course, the problem. While he was enjoying himself and others, being Big Man on Campus, his family had died .

He didn’t feel comfort able enjoying himself after that.

Which was fine. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a place to *enjoy* yourself – it was a place to be wary, to be careful, to stay in the shadows. 

Brood. 

Glare. 

He had gotten very good at glaring as of late. He was a fan of glaring.

He was glaring now. There was no point in running. There was no where to run _too_. He turned back, leaving off physical excersize in favor of a trip to the shower for some alone-time with his hand.

His hand, and the memory of Stiles.

“Okay, big guy. Let’s see it. Let’s see that fist. Big ol’ fist. Make it. Come on. Get it out there. Don’t be scared. Big, bad wolf. Yeahhh. Look at that."” etc.

_Oh yes,_ (Derek thought as he entered his loft again, his eyes half closed, the daydream beginning.) _That’s when I would whip it out. "Okay, big guy. Come on. Get it out there. Don’t be scared. Yeahhh. Look at that." Then I WOULD whip it out, and let him see it as he knelt in front of me, combing my fingers through his hair and forcing his head back. “Like this?” I’d ask._

_And then he’d run, screaming into the night._

 

That was the *problem* with being a hereditary werewolf, the men of his family (Peter included) had told him. Being well-hung was both a curse and a blessing, and Lord knew Derek had discovered that at school.

Being well endowed, the BIG Men on Campus had learned, brought recognition. Admiration. _Fandom_. And on occasion a fan heading for the hills. Derek and his friends had more than one story of a potential lover saying "uh....no..... sorry" with various degrees of tact and grace. He had accepted it, at school.

He wasn’t sure he could accept that with Stiles.

Because Stiles wasn’t JUST a _fan_. Entirely the opposite, really. 

The fans at School. He wanted to stop thinking about his fans at school. School was the place where he had been a baseball star, while still keeping up with the gymnastic training he had studied in Beacon Hills. But at school there was a REASON to stay in shape, to build up muscle, to stay sculpted, toned and ripped.

Now, alone, he was reduced to one-armed pushups and chin-ups on the doorframe, all to work on a body for …. whom, exactly? His pack? Himself? The mirror? There no one was around to notice.

But it was better that way, of course. Better to be alone. Without fans. Without friends. Without family. Alone, and longing for the next distraction.

But the next distraction wasn’t coming, so Derek headed towards the shower. To his date with an imaginary, fearless, big-talking Stiles (Jesus God this place STILL smelled like Stiles.)

Stiles full of plans and promises.

Stiles full of mock-threats and bravado.

Stiles standing right there in front of the couch.

Derek gaped at him, mid-daydream, his hand practically in his pants.


	2. FANDOM: Unlikely Pairings

Stupidly he gaped at the boy -- his brain still thinking about the shower. For an entire minute there was dead silence.

He was expecting a warm soapy shower and a strong hand and a fresh memory of Stiles’ eyes, Stiles’ sweat, Stiles’ luscious mouth.

He wasn’t expecting the actual _Stiles_ back in his loft, smelling one part determination and one part terror.

The boy had come to tell him something in private. Derek’s swimming head could barely concentrate on the actual WORDS, his eyes too affixed on the boy’s mouth, just a moment ago staring in his favorite fantasy, now actually standing just a few feet from his bed.

“You need to stop hitting me, and stop threatening to hit me,” seemed to be the gist of what he was saying.

“You need to stop being annoying.” Was all Derek could manage. When Scott or Peter were around it was easier to concentrate, concentrate on remembering the English language, remembering how to make us it. Right now it was impossible.

“Well, I’m not, I’m going to keep saying what I think, and when I think it, so what are you going to do about it?” 

This was a nightmare. The boy was standing too close and actually getting closer.

“Then I’m just going to keep hitting you,” he said (But the word in his head was _hitting_ it was _touching_ and dear Lord he had almost said it out loud.)

“No, you’re NOT going to keep hitting me, you’re going to STOP hitting me, because I’m tired of it.”

“Really? What are YOU going to do about it? Your wrist wouldn’t even fit underneath my fingers.”

No, wait, he certainly meant to say something else, that Stiles’ fingers didn’t even fit around his wrist, but he was glad that he HADN’T said that right because he didn’t want Stiles to know he had been saying it to himself for the past hour – _his fingers don’t even fit around my wrists, his fingers don’t even fit around….._

Now whatever was coming out of Stiles’ mouth was just as garbled and Derek closed his eyes in frustration. They weren’t communicating, weren’t making themselves understood. This nonsensical conversation was getting them nowhere. Derek’s erection was making it impossible to think and Stiles….

Stiles’ erection was throbbing. His heart was pounding. Derek could SMELL the sweat forming at the boy’s temples before he saw it, could SMELL the flush coloring his cheeks. He opened his eyes, stunned that he hadn’t noticed it before.

He had gotten the boy’s smell all wrong. It was one part terror, one part determination and two parts horny.

The words coming out of Stiles’ mouth now would have been offensive if Derek had been trying to understand them, but he wasn’t trying anymore. Because he was too busy trying to keep his tongue inside that mouth, holding the boy’s head in powerful hands, keeping him, accidentally, off balance, forcing Stiles to cling to Derek’s wrists to keep his feet while he moaned into the kiss.

His fingers clung to the stronger man’s wrists.

Both men noticed that his hands didn’t *quite* reach all the way around.


	3. FANDOM: Pics and Manips

In Stiles’ fondest dreams he never imagined what it would be like to be wrapped up in Derek’s arms, crushed against his enormous chest, and picked up off the floor.

And yet here it was happening, and sure enough the man who was not able to punch him through a wall was, in fact, picking him up and carrying him across the room. 

And, dear god, depositing him on the bed. (Shit, Stiles wasn’t planning on the bed, he was hoping for the couch.)

The fall to the bed surprised and winded him, leaving him speechless and gaping, trying to comprehend the meaning of Derek yanking Stiles’ legs toward him, pulling off Stiles’ shoes and tossing them over his shoulder before toeing off his own.

“Um….Derek I’ve….never really….” was as far as he got before Derek was on top of him, yanking his shirt up over his head….

…where he twisted the material in his hands, trapping Stiles’ wrists and keeping them pinned above his head. 

“Someone should have warned you, Stiles,” he growled, letting go of the shirt and sinking his fingers into the boy’s hair instead. He enjoyed watching the gooseflesh rise at the sound of his voice. “Sex with werewolves can be dangerous.” He yanked the head to one side, exposing the neck. “People tend to get *bit*.”

Then he pressed his teeth into the flesh above the boy’s collar bone. 

He enjoyed the sound it produced.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

There was a little talking after that, talking that made so much more sense than the conversation they had tried to have with their clothes on. 

“OhgodDerek you’vegotmesohard,” Stiles whimpered as Derek eased him out of his jeans, 

and 

“I could smell *this* as soon as I walked in the door,” Derek confessed, his nose pressed into fabric of the boy’s soft briefs, nuzzling his way along his weeping erection.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Derek…..” Stiles tried again when pulled away from kissing Stiles’ chest to straddle his naked body. “I think I should tell you, I’ve never…..” Then Derek peeled his tee-shirt to reveal the stuff of a year’s worth of fantasies – real, sweating, and close enough to touch. Stiles’ mouth kept moving, but the rest of his sentence was lost.

“Oh…oh fuck….” 

“I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet," Derek replied with a grin, and Stiles found his whole body melting with relief. “And you’re ok with that?” he managed as Derek slid strong hands under his back, lifted and moved him higher up on the bed. Derek made a noise that could have meant anything as he spread Stiles’ legs and hooked them over his shoulder. Not understanding the response Stiles tried to repeat the question, but found that he couldn’t. Not that it mattered, since his cock was now completely inside Derek’s mouth.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Derek was surprisingly gentle in bed, Stiles found. 

If you could call having your wrists held immobile while the man energetically sucked your cock until you came in the back of his throat screaming his name ‘gentle.’ But Stiles was even more surprised with the way the older man behaved afterward. Moving only to press his nose against Stiles’ forehead, stroking his hair just a little, he was completely silent, patient, waiting. Nuzzling Stiles occasionally while he recovered. 

“Don’t move,” Derek whispered when Stiles recovered enough to move. He disappeared. In another moment the ceiling fan above him turned on, moving the humid air around him, cooling the sweat on his body. 

A few seconds passed in silence, and Stiles sat up to see where Derek went. He started to see the man was just standing, *looking* at him on the bed. He took a few steps closer when Stiles sat up. Stiles started to saying something sarcastic, but then Derek started to remove his belt.

He didn’t take his eyes off Stiles as he unbuttoned his fly, and in the effort to hold the man’s gaze Stiles found his mouth completely dry and his brain completely empty.

Then Derek shed his pants to reveal massive erection and Stiles was able to speak again. 

“Oh shit.”

“Thanks,” Derek replied, amused, as he climbed back on the bed again.

“Derek I’ve never……I need to tell you I’ve never…..” Stiles stammered, laying backward on the bed as Derek moved on top of him.

“I’ve never….been with anyone…..your size before.”

“Have you been with anyone of *any* size?” Derek asked as he began to kiss the crook of Stiles neck one more time, licking over the bruises he had left there a half-hour before. He was *trying* not to smirk – trying to be a gentleman, hiding his smile by nibbling on the boy’s collarbone. 

Because he had a catalog of Stiles-Smells (not that he would ever admit to it.) He knew what Stiles-Smell of startled and angry and angsty, of joyous and smug, of worried, triumphant. Most of the Stiles-Smells were of varying degrees of terror, but there were more than a few good Smells, too. Some of them were sexual, many were frustrated. And all of them were virginal.

He was trying to think of a polite way to explain this when Stiles said something that made him freeze, his tongue extended, just has he was about to lick behind an earlobe. 

"Does Danny count?"


	4. FANDOM: The Slash

Derek pulled up to look at Stiles.

 

Stiles giggled.

It was hard not to, Derek’s mouth was hanging open and his tongue was practically hanging out. 

“You…..you and….you and …..Danny?”

“Um….yeah?” Stiles replied. His grin was fading.

“When….when did this happen?”

Stiles found his mouth completely dry, and the nerves that had him nearly stammering a half hour earlier, before the clothes came off, before the mouths had been in interesting places.

“Well…..after the mass killing at the Police station. Danny’s mom invited me to dinner, she was worried about me and my dad and all, and Danny and I wound up hanging out at his house for a while, just hanging in his room getting drunk and watching “Who’s Line Is It Anyway” and….and well he knew I was…..curious, you know, since I had already asked him for advice….”

“Advice about what?”

“Well…..you know…..guys.”

“What guys?”

“You know…..guys…..just guys…. LOOK,” Stile said, trying to muster SOME dignity (despite the fact that he was lying completely naked and spent under a completely naked and fully erect werewolf.) “I didn’t know we were dating exclusively. I didn’t even know we were _dating_.” 

“No I, no, no.” Derek said, also trying to muster HIS dignity, which he achieved by burring his head in the crook of the boy’s neck and licking his way hurriedly over veins and bones and tendons until he was relatively sure he had distracted the young man from his last question.

At which task he succeeded, because: “So, um, what do….what do you want me ….what do I do?” was the next question. 

In an impossibly beautiful moment, a moment so sweet Stile was pretty convinced he was dreaming, the huge form of Derek Hale moving above him, switching sides. His right arm went around Stiles head to pull him close and, oh glory of glories, kiss him again. His left hand reached for Stiles’ hand and moved it to encircle his meaty cock. 

Stiles pulled away from the kiss (something he never imagine turn, he _could_ do) to look down, to concentrate on what Derek was showing him – squeeze pull _turn_ , squeeze pull _turn_ , squeeze pull _turn_. Harder than he would have liked on himself but easy to learn, and very quickly he was doing it well enough for Derek to move his left hand up to Stiles’ face. There he cupped one cheek and kissed him again. 

Huge, strong fingers caressed his mouth and Stiles kissed them eagerly. Then one, insistent finger, placed in the center of his chin, forced his mouth open, and he melted.

“Give me your tongue,” Derek whispered. Awkwardly Stiles complied, and found the tip of his tongue sucked sensually into the impossibly hot mouth, sending a jolt straight to his cock and making his heart pound, so much so that he had to pull away. (His hand, however, never stopped moving.)

“Do you like that?” Derek with a too-smug grin, and Stiles answered by presenting it again.

This time Derek sucked so hard Stiles cried out in pain and pulled away. Derek apologized and promised not to do it again (but damn him he was still grinning) and kissed his lips gently.

Then whispered his instructions.

“Now, do that to me.” 

Stiles complied, and the results were remarkable. Sucking enthusiastically at Derek’s tongue made Derek produce the most *amazing* noises. High-pitched moans and _whimpers_ that Stiles knew would never get tired of hearing. He found that if *really* put effort into it, sucking sohard (and jerking so hard) that had to worry if he was doing it TOO hard, that he could actually make the man *shiver*.

Which is why, when, his tongue pulled into his lover’s mouth and his cock pulled steadily in his lover’s hand, Derek came with a shutter and high-pitched whine, Stiles could be seen holding the panting man close and wearing a grin that went ear to ear. He was still a virgin, but he had learned, and quickly, how to make the terrifying and mysterious Derek Hale come.

He was a fan of learning things quickly.


	5. FANDOM: The Feels

They did it one more time, exactly the same way they had done it the first time, with Stiles’ legs over Derek’s shoulders, Stiles’ cock root-deep in Derek’s mouth and Derek’s nose pressed against his skin. One difference though; with manly fortitude (ok with a breathless and squeaky voice) Stiles was able to ask for one change.

Reluctantly, Derek complied, letting go of the boy’s wrists.

Only to find Stiles holding onto HIS wrists, fingernails digging into flesh as he came, more quietly this time, open-mouthed and whispering Derek’s name.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At school in New York, the other BIG Men on Campus enjoyed an old British TV show, one where a man had a time machine that looked like a blue box and could go anywhere in time and space that the show’s low budget would allow. 

No one else knew. One could not be a BIG Man On Campus and a nerd, too.

But Derek wasn’t really a fan.

The ability to go back in time and fix the things that went wrong in your life, or in your families’ life, simply put too much responsibility on one person for comfort. It was ridiculous, obviously, to have so much emotional reaction to a fictional situation. But even then (and so much more so now) he found the idea of time travel disquieting, unnerving. So many things had gone wrong in his life – it was exhausting, and fruitless, to imagine himself going back in time to fix them all.

Bad things had happened. Bad things were going to happen. As he lay awake in the quiet room, his head propped on one hand watching Stiles sleep, he tried not to think. Think too far ahead. Having Stiles in his bed was amazing, but it was going to cause so many more problems that it solved.

Right now, for instance. He was tracing lines between the beauty marks on his lover’s face like an idiot. If the boy woke up and caught him he would have to stop.

“Do we have to tell Scott and, you know, Peter and…. the others? About this?” he had asked earlier, his eyes opening suddenly (catching Derek was doing nothing more embarrassing than playing connect-the-dots with the moles on his shoulder.)

“Peter will know if he ever comes back to the loft. He’ll smell it. The other’s will smell it too, although they might not know what it means at first. Sorry,” he said, apologizing to the distressed look on Stiles’ face. “The perils of dating a werewolf.”

“So….we’re dating?” Stiles asked hopefully.

“I liked you better when you were sleeping,” was all Derek would say, stroking the two eyes closed again.

And he hadn’t stopped touching the face since. Couldn’t stop. Didn’t know what that meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Stiles stirred, snoring, then started awake. He looked around him in a panic untill his eyes found Derek, and he relaxed. 

In an effort to not get caught in his absurd freckle-counting, Derek covered by stroking the boy’s cheek.

“You can’t stay the night.”

The hurt look on the boy’s face was just another example of something Derek needed to go back in time to change. Lacking a time machine, he tried to fix it with a kiss on the forehead.

“Isn’t your dad expecting you?” he whispered (still stroking that cheek, which he was going to stop doing, any moment now.)

“I told my dad I was staying at Danny’s.

“Isn’t Danny expecting you?”

“I told him I wouldn’t be coming, if I got lucky.”

“So….you were expecting to stay the night?”

“No,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes sleepily. “I was expecting you to punch me and throw me out and then I’d be too depressed to go home. This is nicer,” he added. He was laying on his back, his head turned toward Derek and pressed against Derek’s chest. Now he turned and snuggled into the crook of Derek’s arm, which the older man allowed, for the moment. 

He refrained from putting his arms around the sleepy boy.

Spending the night with Stiles sleeping warm and trusting in his arms seemed like far too much to ask.

“And Danny’s ok with this?” he queried (and dear god, he was still stroking the boy’s cheek.)

“Oh yeah, Danny’s a real fan of UST,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s skin.

“Oh,” he replied, confused. “Wait, did you say Danny was a fan of .... _us_ ….?”

“No, of _UST_.”

“What is ‘UST?'”

But Stiles already asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Derek fought sleep but soon found himself loosing. He was still afraid to lay his head down on the soft bed next to the sleeping boy so he rose instead and stood at the window.

Out there was danger. He could smell it coming. Out there lay brooding monsters and breeding disasters and more enemies than he could keep track of. Out there were perils, not the least of which a certain well-armed Sheriff that might have a violent reaction to what Derek had just done with his under-aged son…

The rain began to fall.

Derek sighed and felt his entire body relax. The rain created a curtain, for the moment, that fell between him and the smells of the outside world. Sealing him inside. Tucked him inside his loft with nothing in his nostrils, or his brain, but Stiles.

Derek smiled. Maybe he could go wrap the sleeping boy up in his arms. Maybe he could lay his head down, his nose burried in the boy’s hair. Lay down, even sleep. Listening to the rain.

He was a fan of rain.


End file.
